Amortentia
by LoveBugOC
Summary: Books, strawberries, and sugar quills. Parchment paper, freshly mown grass, and peppermint toothpaste. Six moments, one Love potion.
1. Chapter 1

Hello friends! It's been a while since I've posted anything due to a constant heavy work load at school.

This is a two part story, about Amortentia and the things that both Draco and Hermione smell!

Hope it's interesting. Drop me a comment or two if you please :)

* * *

><p><strong>Books, Strawberries and Sugar Quills<strong>

_Six moments. Three very distinctive smells. One potion. Draco Malfoy reflects on the things he smells in the Amortentia._

X

**[One-Books]**  
><em>November 14, 2002<em>

Draco Malfoy paces back and forth in the flat he shares with his girlfriend of six months.

She's been missing for three hours now.

Okay, so she's not exactly _missing_. In fact, he knows exactly where is-she went out to lunch with his mother three hours ago. By missing, he merely means that he had expected her back way before now.  
>He's growing impatient. And worried. Sure, his family has changed their views on muggles and muggleborns since the end of the war, but this is the first time he's ever left his mother and his girlfriend alone before.<p>

Just how long is long enough before it becomes acceptable to check on them?

-And not look like a bloody paranoid lunatic?

As if on cue, the front door opens. The first thing he sees in her chocolate brown curls, followed then by her floral summer dress and half a dozen shopping bags. He sighs-half out of relief and half because he knew his mother would take her shopping. His girlfriend is not a materialistic being by any means, but when paired with his mother...

She smiles, kicking the door closed behind her. "Hey honey."

"I take it you and my mother had a good time," he teases, moving across the room to help her with the bags.

"Thanks. And yeah, we did," she confirms, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

He takes advantage of her closeness, snaking his arms around her (while still holding onto four bags) and pulls her flush against him. He captures her lips in his, sucking her bottom lip between his. It elicits a moan from her throat before she giggles and pulls back.

"Hardly inside the door and you're already attacking me," she scolds playfully.

He feigns feeling offended. "_Attacking_you?"

She nods, teasing him.

"Well, that'll teach me to miss you then," he replies, turning his head to the side as if to ignore her.

"I'm kidding," she giggles, pushing herself onto the tips of her toes to get closer to him. She hooks her arms underneath his and over his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

He chuckles softly, tightening his hold on her as he buries his face in her curls, nuzzling the crook of her neck with his forehead.

She smells like books. Like old, dusty books. Like brand new books. It's a smell that's just so...strictly _her_.

"You were hanging around my parents library, weren't you?" he murmurs, pulling back just far enough to look at her.

She looks back, her hazel eyes smiling.

x

_March 1991_

She's there again, in the library. That Granger girl. The Gryffindor with the bushy hair, buck teeth and dirty blood.

She's always there.

Every time he's there, she's there. And so, naturally, he's beginning to wonder if she ever really leaves. He knows she does, of course, because they have classes together. But he wouldn't be surprised if she'd somehow figured out how to clone herself so she could be in both places at once. Not only is she that (regrettably) smart, but she's that much of a bookworm.

Speaking of bookworm, she's always attached to a bloody book. Always. He's never not seen her without a book in her feminine little hands-not that he pays (that much) attention. Whether it's a text book or a novel, she's always carrying around some sort of book. Maybe she's got a book fetish...

Or a library fetish.

Her nose is currently stuffed between the pages of the very book he's looking for to finish his potions project tomorrow before the train ride back home for the holidays. He saunters over, placing his book bag on the table in front of her roughly-to purposely annoy her.

She looks at him, her brown eyes wide with curiousity. "Hello," she greets him politely.

"I need that book," he replies.

"Oh, well, I'm kind of in the middle of-"

"I need to finish the project, Granger."

"Well there's plenty more on the shelf," she offers.

"Why would I get it from there when you've got a perfectly good copy I can use?" he points out, very rationally, he thinks.

She blinks. "Because I'm using it?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Please, Granger. Everyone knows you've had the project done for weeks now. You don't even need the book."

"True," she agrees, "I don't _need_the book. But I'd like to finish it, it's really quite interesting."

"Leave it to _you_ to read an entire text book because you actually _like_it," he smirks, holding out his hand for her to give it to him.

She glares at him then, gaining confidence as she closes the book and begins to pack up her things. "I'm not giving you the book, you can get your own."

He groans loudly. "Granger don't be such a wuss-"

"Don't be such a prat!" she whispers back loudly. She might've yelled, if she weren't in a library. "Just because your father gives you everything you want, doesn't mean everyone else in the real world will too. Besides, we've had this project for weeks now so it's not my fault you left it to the last minute."

"For your information I didn't _leave_it to the last minute, most of it is done," he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "And by the way, not all of us are over-achieving little swots."

She rolls her eyes, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "You're not all that _smart_, either."  
>Her last comment nearly floors him as she spins on her heel, her bushy hair nearly hitting him in the face as she walks away from him.<p>

Not as smart? Not as _smart_ as _her_? He grumbles to himself, clenching his fists at his sides as he marches over to a bookcase to find the same book. He'll show her who isn't as _smart_.

As he sits down, in the very chair she had just occupied, he can't shake the smell of old books out of his nose. And it isn't from the bookshelves surrounding him.

X

**[Two-Strawberries]**  
><em>January 27, 2003<em>

It's 7:46 p.m.

The first thing Draco hears when he walks through the front door after a long, frustrating day at work is the shower. Funny, he smirks as he slips his jacket off and hangs it in the front closet, he was just thinking about how badly he wanted to take a shower.

And then go to bed.

He begins to strip in the living room, leaving a trail of his own clothes down the hall towards bathroom.

Converse shoes. Cardigan. T-shirt. Wifebeater. Jeans and belt. Socks.

By the time he reaches the bathroom and closes the door behind him, he's wearing only his boxers.

Which doesn't last long, seeing as seconds later they're lying on the floor next to his girlfriend's bra and knickers. The silhouette of her slim, curvy body through the glass shower doors arouses him. He tip toes across the bathroom floor so as to not disturb her, carefully sliding the door open before stepping inside and closing it behind him. The water is somewhere between warm and hot, like it always is when she takes a shower, and it's foggy and muggy. She's standing underneath the shower head, her back to him as she rinses her hair. He watches for a moment, mesmerized as the water cascades down her skin and onto the shower floor beneath her feet.

He reaches out for her then, unable to handle the distance anymore, and he circles his arms around her waist from behind. She squeals, jumping in surprise as she whips her head around to see him.

"Merlin's beard Draco! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He chuckles softly, nipping her shoulder with his teeth. "Sorry..."

"Liar," she giggles, leaning her bare back against his chest.

She fits perfectly against him. Every curve. Every crevice. It's like she was made for him-emotionally, mentally, spiritually and, of course, physically. He never understood that saying "home is where the heart" is, until he fell in love with her. She is his home.

She turns around in his arms as he pushes her gently against the tile wall. She gasps at the sensation of the cool tile against her hot skin. That gasp turns into a moan when he begins kissing and sucking on her neck. One hand palms her breast and the other cups her mound as he travels lower, leaving a trail of hot kisses over her wet skin.

Her skin smells (and tastes) like strawberries. Strawberries are, coincidentally, his favourite fruit.

Her fingers tug at his wet hair as he moves lower-across her stomach and thighs...

Needless to say, he isn't going to bed any time soon.

x

_April 1993_

She'd punched him.

She'd legitimately _punched_him. A hex, he had been expecting, sure. But a punch? With her fist? No, he hadn't been expecting that. Least of all from goody-two-shoes-Granger.

But then, he thinks, perhaps it really isn't all that surprising. She is _Granger_, after all. She's small, and innocent looking, but he knows more than anyone that she can be quite...aggressive at times. Passionate. Opinionated. She is, after all, the only person he knows who can go head to head with him in a battle of wits. She isn't afraid to back down from a fight if she truly believes in what she's fighting for. And she isn't one to allow herself to be bullied-especially not by him. [Which is what makes bullying her so much fun.]

So yes, perhaps he should've expected it. But nevertheless, she'd caught him off guard by slamming her fist into his face. It was out of utter shock, embarrassment and (admittedly) a little bit of fear that he'd ran away.

And now here he is, two days later, alone in a stuffy old class room with her. He thinks about all the things he could do to her. Taunt her. Hex her. Curse her. He thinks about all the different ways he can hurt her-all the things he can say and do. The possibilities are endless; he's been stacking ammo for years.

However, most, if not all, of those things would get him expelled and so he decides to do nothing instead. Because, by doing nothing, he is, ultimately, doing more.

He looks at her from across the room, watching her hand scribble furiously across the page on her desk. Her writing hand, which is also her punching hand, is a bit swollen. He smirks. "How's your hand, Granger?"

"Better than your nose, I'm sure," she replies casually, not even missing a beat. Nor does she look up from her paper.

His gaze narrows as he pushes himself to his feet, swings his bag over his shoulder and saunters across the room. He stops in front of her desk, resting both hands on the edge and leaning down slightly. "You better watch yourself, Granger."

She sighs, looking up at him with a bored expression. "Why's that?"

"Because I could _destroy_you."

"Good luck with that," she replies, rolling her eyes as she packs her own things into her bag.

He watches her as she stands up, pushing himself up straight. "I'm not kidding, Granger."

"I'm sure you're not."

"I _will_ get back at you. When you _least_expect it."

She looks at him, an amused expression painted on her pretty little face. "Like I said, good luck with that," she says again. She lifts her arm again, but this time instead of punching him (which almost makes him flinch) she pats his cheek with an open palm, before spinning on her heel and leaving him alone.

Alone, stunned and somewhat confused.

Leaving him with the smell of strawberries-perhaps it's her hand cream-so strong that he can practically taste it. [Is it weird that he sort of, almost, kind of wants her to punch him again? Or at least touch his face...]

X

**[Three-Sugar Quills]**  
><em>July 2003<em>

He watches his girlfriend from across the bedroom, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. She's sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard with her legs out in front of her, the blanket thrown over her thighs. She's wearing one of his work shirts-a long sleeved dress shirt, with the first three buttons undone giving him a sneak peak of her ample cleavage underneath. [She always looks so much better wearing his shirts than he does...] Her hair is thrown into a messy bun near the top of her head, loose tendrils falling over her shoulders, some into her face.

She looks so simple, yet so elegant.

So natural, so beautiful.

So _right_.

It's moments like these, when he's watching her read in the dim light of the table lamp beside her-when she's raw and naked (mostly figuratively) and oblivious to the outside world-that he wonders how in Merlin's holy name he got so lucky.

Surely he hasn't done anything to deserve it.

Surely sure she can do _so_much better than him.

Surely she's wasting that beautiful and lovable mind and heart and soul on him, when she could be loving another.

And yet it is him, despite many protests, that she has chosen. And it is her.

She looks at him, acknowledges his presence, and then looks back down at her book. She's ignoring him, of course. For they had a fight this morning over something he can't even remember-that's true love, isn't it?

He sighs softly, making his way slowly towards the bed. He comes up along her side of it, resting his hands on the mattress as he kneels down on the floor. Folding his arms in front of him, next to her thighs, he rests his chin on top, staring at her intently.

Finally, she looks at him, placing her bookmark in between the pages as she closes the book.

He smiles sheepishly. "Hi."

"Hi," she whispers back, smiling softly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I got you something," he murmurs, shifting slightly as he moves his left arm and digs into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a sugar quill, smirking when he eyes light up as he presents it to her. "You're favourite flavour."

"More like _your_favourite flavour," she teases.

"Yes, well, that's just a lovely coincidence."

She smiles, taking the wrapping off of the candy piece and taking a long, slow lick before placing it in her mouth. She closes her eyes, savouring the taste on her tongue.

He grins, watching her. She looks a child who's just been given a lollipop for good before. Cute and adorable. And then, at the exact same time, she looks incredibly sexy.

She shifts slightly, placing the sugar quill on top of the wrapper on the dresser next to her before looking at him.

He lifts his right hand, cupping the base of her neck and stroking his thumb over her cheek. "I love you," he whispers.

She smiles, leaning forward slightly to rest her forehead against his. "I love you too."

He can smell the sugar quill on her breath and it's because of that-and, partly, because she's just so kissable-that he close the gap, capturing her lips in his and slipping his tongue into her mouth to taste her.

x

_March 1996_

He's been watching her. Carefully.

She's miserable. And while usually, he'd find comfort and extreme happiness in the fact that she's completely miserable, it sort of irks him. He's tried to convince himself that it's because it isn't his doing-it's Weasel's, the little redheaded brat. But he knows, deep down, that that isn't the case. It's for an entirely different reason.

It's because when he looks at her, he sees himself. Her sunken, saddened eyes mirror his own. The distressed, unhappy look on her face reminds him of himself.

It's the way she walks down the hallways, hugging her books to her chest and staring at the ground-like her 11-year-old self. It's the way she watches after Weasley with longing when he's alone and contempt when he's with the flower-girl. It's the way she avoids everyone, shrinking into the shadows and hiding in the library.

It's easy for her to disappear, for she's just so unnoticeable. [And yet he's noticed.]

He wishes it were that easy for him. To disappear. But unfortunately for him, disappearing-ironically-bring him more attention than it should.

And so he's been watching her. Learning from her. Observing her.

She surprises him one night. Because instead of being in the library, like she always is, she's in the Astronomy Tower. More importantly, though, she's standing in _his_ spot, with her hands wrapped around _his_rail. He watches her for a moment from the entrance, wondering if she's thinking about what he's though so many times before. Wondering if she wonders what it would feel like to climb over the rail and step off the ledge.

He walks closer to her until he's standing next to her. She glances sideways a him but doesn't say anything. There's some sort of mutual understanding here. He folds his arms across his chest, staring over the horizon.

"Do you ever think about climbing over the rail?"

She blinks, looks at him and then looks away.

"I reckon that's the easiest part. Letting go would be the hardest."

She nods.

"Until you hit the ground, of course. Unless you die beforehand, in the middle of the air from shock. Then I suppose it wouldn't hurt at all."

"I didn't know you were suicidal," she comments dryly.

"I'm not. Just curious."

"Curiousity is the first step," she retorts.

"If you say so," he shrugs nonchalantly.

Silence falls over them once more. He mirrors her, staring out over the horizon, only stealing small glances every once in a while. That's when he notices how...disheveled she looks. It looks as though she's been crying, from her tear stained face and puffy eyes. That's also when he notices the sugar quill in her hand.

She's been eating those like they're going out of style, lately. Every time he sees her, she's sucking on one.

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. "Isn't that against some sort of rule, seeing as you're the daughter of _dentists_?"

"What?" she asks, confused. Probably shocked that he remembers what a dentist is.

"Those sugar quills."

She smirks in response, one almost as good as his. "It's my rebellion."

He snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. "If that's what you call a rebellion, I fear for your kind, Granger."

"Baby steps, Malfoy. I have to start somewhere." She lifts it to her mouth, her tongue slipping out to lick it.

He wants to lick it too. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. He watches her as she puts it in her mouth, sucks on it, and then pulls it back out with a small _pop_.

And she doesn't have a clue.

And so he fixed that problem the only way he knows how-and it doesn't suck that it's all he's been able to think about in regards to her. He kisses her.

He takes her face in his hand, burying his fingers in her unruly curls and pulls her mouth to his. He crushes her lips with his, his tongue darting out to taste the residue left behind by the sugar quill that had previously occupied those lips.

_Heavenly_ is the only word that comes to mind as he slips his tongue into her mouth, savouring the taste.

She moans, her hands bunching his robes into fists.

Devine, is the second only word that comes to mind.

He pulls back then, both of them panting. Their breaths mingle together-now they both smell like sugar quills. And perhaps, now, he'll be able to sleep at night.

"Good choice, Granger," he tells her, his voice softer than usual.

"T-thanks," she stutters.

He looks at her pointedly, his gaze narrowing just slightly. "No one can-"

"Know. I know."

X

_**September 1996**__  
>Potions<em>

He's only partly listening to Granger as she drones on-and-on about Amortentia. Blah-blah _love potion_. _Desires_ blah-blah. _Most dangerous_blah.

Slughorn removes the lid to the cauldron, attracting the desires of the girls standing closest to the potion, before he closes it back up. Before he closes it up, however, Draco gets a strong whiff of three, very distinct smells.

_Books.  
>Strawberries.<br>And candy floss Sugar Quills_.


	2. Chapter 2

Hai! Thanks for the reviews and stuff :)

Here's the second part! Hope you like it as much as the first.

* * *

><p><strong>Parchment, Grass and Peppermint Toothpaste<strong>

_Three very distinctive smells. Six moments. One potion. Hermione Granger reflects on the things she smells in the Amortentia.  
><em>  
>X<p>

**[One-Parchment Paper]**  
><em>April 2003<em>

Hermione Granger jumps, startled, when she feels a pair of strong, warm arms circle around her waist as she stands in front of the kitchen sink. A small squeal escapes her throat, drawing a chuckle from the body behind her. She swats his arm, playfully. "You're awful," she complains.

"It's just so amusing," her boyfriend murmurs, peppering kisses across her shoulder and neck.

She giggles, shifting in his arms as she turns around to face him. Her arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. "How was work?" she asks softly when she pulls back.

He groans, shaking his head as he leans in to kiss her again. "Work was work," he mutters. "But let's not talk about work. I can think of something much more interesting to do." he grins mischievously.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I'm doing the dishes."

"Yeah. That's what I meant. What'd you think I meant?" he asks, smirking when she gaps at him. "Mind out of the gutter, Luv."

She shakes her head as he grabs the towel off the counter and begins to dry the dishes she's already washed and set aside. By hand. She smiles to herself as she joins him, resuming her previous washing.  
>They're both silent. She washes and he dries and neither of them speaks. He looks at her and she looks back. He smirks and she smiles, blushing as she looks away. She feels like she's 18 again, falling for him for the first time.<p>

And then he's kissing her and she's kissing back. Her wet, soapy hands are in his hair and he drops the towel on the floor as his arms curl around her waist, pulling her against him.

He smells like a beautiful mixture of the cologne she bought him for Valentine's Day and parchment paper-he's been doing paperwork all day, trying to settle a deal with another company at work. Somehow it's the parchment paper that's distinctly _him_and not the cologne, because the cologne changes. The parchment paper doesn't.

x

_September 1991_

She watches him from across the library. He's a mystery. A puzzle. An enigma, you could say. For she can't figure him out. She's figured everyone else out-Harry, Ronald, Neville, even Parkinson. But not Malfoy.

One minute he can be a right prick-mostly towards Harry and Ron, and the next he can be just as quiet as her. He's loud and rowdy and proud (too proud), he thinks he's the best at everything and he thinks that nobody can touch him because his father is wealthy and powerful. But then there's a softer side to him-at least, that what it seems like. Because when he's alone, he's quiet. When he's in the library he isn't rowdy or disrespectful. He sits at his desk and he does his work.

It's just as he is now, surrounded by parchment paper and textbooks. She watches him run his hands over his slicked back hair, cursing under his breath in frustration. He's working on the new Transfiguration homework, which she's already finished.

She frowns as he growls, crumpling a piece of parchment paper and tossing it a number of other parchment balls. She shakes her head, pushing herself to her feet before walking across to his table.

"Want some help?" she asks softly, tilting her head to the side as she waits for a response.

He looks at her, and then back down at his books. "No."

"I've already finished, so I can give you a hand-"

"I don't need your help, Granger," he snaps.

She blinks, frowning as she shifts awkwardly on her feet. "Okay, well...good luck then." She turns to walk away and the pauses mid-step and turns back. "You'll find everything you need in Chapter 7," she tells him, before turning again and walking back towards her own desk.

X

**[Two-Freshly Mown Grass]**  
><em>August 2003<em>

It's Sunday. Everyone, the Weasley's (Harry, Hermione and her boyfriend included) are spending the day at the Burrow for their monthly dinner.

It's also a day of friendly competition between ex-rivals in the form of a Quidditch game played in the field.

It's hot out, almost unusually so what with the sun beating down strongly on the open field. There isn't a cloud in sight. Every male, except for Arthur Weasley, and including Ginny, is participating in this game.  
>Hermione watches the game from the porch, sitting on a patio chair with a glass of lemonade in one hand and her newest novel in the other. Her boyfriend's blond hair shines in the sunlight and blows about in the wind. His t-shirt is sticking to his torso, partly due to the sweat building on his body and also to the wind. He isn't big by any means, but his arms are toned under the sleeves of his t-shirt. He's playing seeker along-side Harry; "lifetime Quidditch rivals", they call one another.<p>

The game is neck-in-neck, as it often is, and everyone looks exhausted as they continue to play. Ron yells up to Harry to "hurry up and find the damn snitch." Harry yells back that it's "a little difficult with the sun being so strong."

In the meantime, she notices, her boyfriend has spotted (what she assumes to be) the snitch, for her takes off in a nose-dive towards the ground. She sits forward, placing both her book and her lemonade on the table beside her, watching with anticipation. At the very last minute he pulls the broom up, gliding mere inches above the freshly mowed grass. He reaches his hand out, his arm firm and his concentration firmer.

And then three things happen. One: he closes his hand around something-most likely the snitch. Two: he somehow loses control of his broom and goes flying off the end, rolling and tumbling in the grassy field. Three: Hermione sprints towards him as everyone else touches the ground carefully.

She drops to her knees beside him, rolling him over onto his back carefully. His eyes are closed, his body still. "Draco? Hey, baby, are you okay?"

He groans suddenly, his eyes squinting in the glaring sun as he tried to open them. "Just peachy," he mutters sarcastically as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

Everyone has gathered around them now, his team mates congratulating-and thanking him-before going back to the house. Harry smirks, clapping him on the back, even as the blond winces. "What was that you said earlier about never losing control of your broom?" he teases.

"I don't see you holding a snitch, do I, Potter?"

Harry glares at him, clapping him on the back before he and Ron head back to the house as well.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and healed before dinner," Hermions says softly, extending her hand to help him up.

He shakes his head, slipping his arm around her waist before laying back in the grass and pulling her with him. "Lay with me a bit," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head as he pulls her against his side.

"You're sweaty," she complains half-heartedly. He chuckles in response as she snuggles into his side, picking at the tiny blades of grass that have stuck themselves to his shirt.

And despite the fact that he is, indeed, sticky and sweaty, the only thing she smells is freshly mown grass.

x

_May 1994_

Hermione finds herself wandering the land around the castle on day, completely out of nowhere. After yet another fight with Ron and Harry the previous night, she'd spent two hours crying on the staircase before she decided the head back to the common room. Even then, she'd hardly slept, and so she decided to get up early. She went to the kitchens to eat breakfast with the house elves before going outside to enjoy the warm weather and dewy smell that only the morning brings.

She winds up at the Quidditch pitch. And yet despite the fact that it's early morning and nearly everybody else is still asleep, she isn't alone. For Draco Malfoy is also on the pitch.

She decides to ignore his presence and wander around the field, walking through the dew and the freshly mown blades of grass. And for a while, he decides to ignore her. Until, it seems, she decides to leave.

"Granger!"

She groans inwardly, turning around to face the voice. He's walking towards her, his broom in one hand and a snitch in the other. "What, Malfoy?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just taking a walk, Malfoy. No need to get your knickers in a twist." She turns to leave, being stopped once more by his voice.

"Weasley's an idiot Granger. He's hardly worth it."

She turns to look at him, and suddenly he's standing right in front of her. Too close. She can smell the air and the grass on him. She raises her eyebrows. "Didn't know you cared."

He smirks, rolling his eyes. "I don't _care_, Granger. I'm merely stating a perfectly well-known fact: the Weasel is an idiot."

And although his voice is snarky and mean, somehow she thinks he's giving her a compliment.

X

**[Three-Peppermint Toothpaste]**  
><em>October 2003<em>

The first thing she hears when she enters the flat she shares with her boyfriend is...absolutely nothing. Everything is quiet, except for the soft humming of the tv and the ticking of the clock on the wall. She slips her shoes off quietly, peels her jacket off to hang it on the coat rack and places her purse on the table next to the rack. She tip toes through the dark flat then, down the hallway to their bedroom. The door is open and the lights are off and her boyfriend looks like he's fast asleep in the bed. She smiles softly, changing into her pj's quickly and quietly before pulling the covers back and crawling into the bed.

He's lying on his side, facing the middle of the bed with his right arm tucked under his pillow. She moves her body close to his, mirroring his position with her left arm tucked under her own pillow. She lifts her right arm up slight, running her fingers through his platinum blond hair.

He stirs, humming as his eyes flutter open. He smiles when he sees her. "Hi," he whispers, reaching his right arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

"Hi," she whispers back softly. His breath is hot on her face, and smells like peppermint toothpaste.

He kisses the tip of her nose before pressing his forehead against hers. "You're late."

"I know. Dinner ran extremely late," she replies softly.

"Obviously," he murmurs, nuzzling her nose with his.

She giggles, kissing him on the lips lovingly. He deepens it, moving the hand around her waist up to cup her face. She can taste the freshness of his toothpaste.

"I love you," he whispers against her mouth.

"I love you too," she whispers back. "Now go to sleep."

"I _was_asleep," he teases.

"Please," she scoffs playfully. "You can't sleep properly without me."

He smirks, chuckling softly as she shifts and turns around so that her back is against his chest. He tightens his grip around her waist, pulling her flush against him and birthing his face into the back of her neck.

x

_December 1998_

They've been sharing a common room for the last three and half months now on account of the fact that they're Head Boy and Girl now. And up until recently, they've barely had any sort of contact. Lately, however, they've been greeting each other in the mornings before breakfast and at night before bed.

This morning is no different.

Dressed in last night's pjs, Hermione shuffles down the hallway from her bedroom to the bathroom she shares with Malfoy. The door is open and so she walks in, not expecting him to be there-

-but he is. He's standing at the sink, his back to her, as he brushes his teeth.

She pauses in the doorway, mid-step, with her hand halfway through her hair. She looks him up and down, silently.

He's green plaid pyjama pants, settled low on his hips, and a plain white long-sleeved shirt. The shirt is thin enough to still show off the Quidditch-sculpted muscles underneath. His hair is disheveled, like he's just rolled out of bed. And his reflection in the mirror looks tired.

He's been different lately, since returning to school. Quiet. He sticks to walking along the walls in the corridors rather than down the middle like he used to. He sits in the back of all of their classes, shrinking into the shadows.

Out of sight, out of mind.

"See something you like, Granger?"

His voice pulls her out of her head, and only then does she realize that she's been staring. He's looking at her through the mirror. She blinks, clearing her throat. "Um, I was just-I didn't realize you were-"

"I'm almost done," he replies through a mouth full of toothpaste. Peppermint, she realizes.

"No rush," she tells him, shrugging casually.

He smirks, pausing to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth before rinsing. Then he washes his face before patting it dry and turning to face her. He walks towards her-except not really towards _her_, just towards her direction. He stops next to her, staring at her.

She stares back, her breath caught in her throat. She can smell the toothpaste on his breath; it makes her dizzy.

"All yours," he murmurs, his lips neck to her ear.

"Thanks," she chokes out, making him smirk and chuckle before he slips past her.

X

**September 1996**  
><em>Potions<em>

She's the first to raise her hand when Professor Slughorn asks the class what the potion is in the vial. It's Amortentia, she tells him. And even as her brain gets fuzzy and her grows numb, she explains what the potion is and what it does. She can herself being drawn into it, towards her. She steps closer and closer and suddenly she's telling the class what she smells. The three scents which attract her the most.

_Parchment paper.  
>Freshly mown grass.<br>Peppermint toothpaste._


End file.
